Paper Angels
by Ibelieveinsam
Summary: Dean wonders if there is any good left in the world, after Sam is attacked on Christmas Eve and is left fighting for his life.
1. Silent Night, Holy Night

Disclaimer: Still not mine, but Limp!Sam is on my Christmas list ;)

A/N: I started this story last year around Christmas, so this story takes place in season 2, roughly after Crossroad Blues. It does not include events that happened after that episode.

I also want to thank first and foremost, Dawn, for all her help with this story. She was so patient to answer all my questions and I can't thank her enough for everything. I also want to thank my friends, Alex, Jess, Funky, Louise, and Amy for all their encouragement and support.

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**Paper Angels**

"Could you spare a dollar?"

Sam Winchester pulled two crumpled dollar bills out of his wallet and handed them to the disheveled man.

"Merry Christmas," he said with a smile.

"What did you do that for?" Dean asked after the man had walked away.

"Do what?"

"Give that guy your money. You probably just contributed to his drug habit."

"Don't you think there are any good people left in the world?"

"Not really no," Dean answered, sincerely. "You can't con a conman. That guy probably saw you coming a mile away. You have that whole bleeding heart vibe going on. You should know better."

"It was only two dollars Dean and it's Christmas," Sam replied, exasperatedly.

"That's exactly my point. It's Christmas. It's the perfect time of year to swindle people out of their money. The department stores do it with their commercials, making people think they have to buy someone a gift at their store in order for them to have a Merry Christmas. These panhandlers do it on the street, selling some story about their hard knock life. They know people are more likely to open their wallets at this time of year."

"Don't you have any Christmas spirit?" Sam asked, with a sigh.

"I'll have the Christmas spirit as soon as we get rid of this ghost. Get it. Spirit…Ghost?" Dean remarked with a smirk.

"Ha ha Dean," Sam replied sarcastically. "Very funny."

Sam and Dean made their way back to the Impala, dodging the mid morning shoppers in the crowded downtown area. The street was bustling with activity. Christmas music could be heard blaring from speakers positioned above several stores. There was a Christmas tree lot at the corner, offering trees for half price. Several last minute shoppers were looking at the slim pickings and most likely kicking themselves for having waited so long to get a tree.

They were in Massachusetts investigating a spirit that had been bothering the same family for generations every Christmas. They found the story in the local paper, under the headline, "The Grinch That Stole Christmas." The ghost hadn't done any serious damage, but it had busted a set of wine glasses that were under the tree and sent glass flying around the room, slightly injuring one of the house's occupants. It wasn't really much of a case, but then again they didn't have anything else lined up. It was baffling too as to why the ghost only made its presence known during the holiday season, and chose to target its family members.

After conducting some research in the library, they suspected it was the ghost of a Mr. Kevin Marley, a descendent of the people that had been experiencing the strange phenomena. The ghost had bothered all different families in various locations, but they all had Kevin Marley as a relative in common. The incidents had begun after his death in the early 1900s. For the most part, his spirit remained invisible. However, in the past, he had shown himself reflected in objects giving unsuspecting people quite the fright. Sam had thought it was hilarious that the ghost had the last name of Scrooge's dead business partner in A Christmas Carol. While Sam sat there chuckling over the whole thing, Dean had looked on perplexed.

"Dude, Charles Dickens? Marley was dead to begin with?" Sam had responded to Dean's blank stare.

"Scrooge?" Sam tried again.

"That's all you had to say. What the hell did you have to mention Dickens for?"

"He wrote the book. It is a good fact to know."

"Bah Humbug," Dean had retorted.

Sam and Dean figured a simple salt and burn would do it. After driving over to the cemetery and tracking down the grave, they set to work. It took longer than usual to exhume the coffin since the ground was nearly frozen.

"Well that takes care of that," Dean said, as they watched the last of the embers die away on Marley's remains. "I'm hungry."

"You're thinking of eating at a time like this?"

"What? You should be happy. I'm finally feeling festive. You know what I could go for? Some chestnuts. This whole thing has made me think of that song. You know the one that goes, Chestnuts roasting on an open fire," Dean sang.

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Jack Frost nipping at your noooooooooose," Dean continued, dragging out the note.

"Yuletide carols being sung by a very annoying person," Sam sang, laughing and adding his own version of the lyrics as he hopped back in the grave to finish the job.

"You're just jealous I can carry a note. You sounded like some of the banshees we've hunted just now," Dean replied, picking up his own shovel.

oooooooo

After reburying the coffin and then driving back to the hotel to clean up, Sam and Dean had opted to get something to eat. Not chestnuts, but some Italian food.

As they settled in to eat their meal, Sam couldn't help overhearing the conversation of two men who walked into the restaurant.

"He claims the ghost of Christmas past struck again just a few minutes ago," the first guy said with a laugh, as he sat down at the bar. "He canceled the whole party."

"You know what I think. I think he's just really too cheap to throw this party and he's making up excuses about this ghost," the second guy answered as both men broke into loud guffaws.

Sam gave Dean a nudge, but Dean was already listening, spaghetti hanging out of his mouth.

"Dean, if that ghost just struck again, it means the salt and burn didn't work."

"Yeah I know," Dean said, taking a moment to slurp up his spaghetti. "Maybe it's the ghost of a different relative. We are going to have to go to that house."

Dean deposited the money on the table, as they left their meal unfinished.

oooooooo

"Spare a dollar?" Sam almost collided with the man as they left the restaurant.

"You again?" Dean said, disgustedly. He recognized the guy as the same man that had approached Sam earlier. He'd recognize the salt and pepper beard and torn camouflage jacket anywhere. "What happened to the two bucks we gave you earlier?"

"You didn't give me anything. He did," The man said, pointing his thumb in Sam's direction. "That was hours ago and I spent it," The man continued in a huff.

Sam reached into his pocket to give the man another couple of dollars.

"Well maybe you should learn to budget your money better, and you wouldn't be in this mess. Don't even think about it Sammy," Dean said before Sam could give the guy the money.

"A guy has to eat you know. You just stuffed your face in there without a second thought, fatso".

"For your information, we didn't even get to finish our meal. And who are you calling a fatso!" Dean exclaimed, stepping forward.

"Enough," Sam said, putting a restraining hand on Dean's arm. "Leave him alone."

"Maybe you should listen to your brother," The man replied before walking away.

"Maybe you should mind your own damn business," Dean called after him.

oooooooo

Sam and Dean made their way up the steps of the two story house. It was adorned with Christmas lights, although one of the strands was dangling and unlit.

"Could be the handy work of Marley?" Dean said, inspecting the lights.

Sam knocked on the door. A haggard looking gentleman answered, and loud noises could be heard behind him.

"Mr. Marley?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah I'm Mr. Ben Marley," The man answered while stealing nervous glances over his shoulder.

"Hi. We're here collecting for those that are less fortunate," Dean lied, straining to see what was going on behind the guy.

"Now is not a good time," Marley answered, blocking the doorway.

A loud crash resounded inside the house and the man turned around.

"We think we know what's going on here," Sam said, as he and Dean snuck around the man into the house.

"Did you read about it in the paper?"

"Yeah and we think we can help."

"I don't think so. I'm not even sure what it is myself. All I know is that ever since we put the tree up, things have been getting broken. Gifts get thrown around. The other day, a set of wine glasses almost killed my wife. I sent her and the kids away for the night," The man said, shakily running a hand through his thinning hair. "This happened before to an aunt of mine. I just thought it was a story."

"Dean, look out!" Sam called, as Dean ducked just in time to avoid a large package that came flying at his head.

The gift hit the wall, spraying the room with shards of glass.

"What was that?" Marley asked.

"A statue of some kind," Dean said bending down and picking up the head of what looked like a llama. The head was the only part still intact. "I think whoever was getting that gift will be grateful it got destroyed."

"That was for my wife!" Marley replied, offended.

"Sorry then, I guess," Dean said, shrugging and tossing the head back on the floor. He pulled out his EMF and made his way over to the discarded box.

Sam walked over to the few packages that remained under the tree. Suddenly, he found himself falling and he grabbed on to the tree for support. However, both the tree and Sam crashed to the floor. Several ornaments broke and others were sent rolling across the floor.

"Sam, are you okay?" Dean asked, rushing over to Sam's side.

"Yeah, I think so. I tripped on this," Sam said, standing up and showing a small train caboose that he had in his hand. "I guess it was under the tree."

"Look what you did!" Marley shouted, surveying the damage. "You broke my aunt's ornament too. That was a family heirloom. It has been in our family for years. She gave it to me before she died."

The ornament was shaped like a bell, but it was now broken in two pieces.

While Marley continued to rant and rave, Sam noticed a small piece of silver that must have broken off the bell glinting on the floor. If he didn't know any better…

"Dean, look at this," Sam called, motioning for Dean to come over. "What does this look like to you?"

"It kind of looks like a…" Dean began, realization dawning in his eyes.

"Tooth," they both said in unison. It appeared to be a silver tooth.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Sam asked.

"Only one way to find out. Give me that," Dean said taking the tooth from Sam. He then took the entire broken ornament from Marley, and threw everything into the fireplace.

There was a loud shrieking noise and then the house became still and quiet.

"What the hell did you just do!" Marley screeched. "You burned an antique ornament!"

"Well I'd say our work here is done and this is the point where we make a hasty exit. Let's go Sammy," Dean said, as they practically ran out the front door.

"You're going to pay for these damages!" Marley yelled after them, as Dean started up the car, and screeched down the street.

oooooooo

"Do you believe that guy?" Dean asked, as they entered the hotel room. "We gave him a silent night and does he thank us? Nope. He keeps bitching about an ornament that contained the tooth of some distant relative, and caused all the trouble in the first place. Then you wonder why I have such little faith in the human race," Dean said, putting his hand behind his head and laying back on the bed.

"Do you think the spirit is gone for good?" Sam asked.

"I hope so because I certainly don't want to visit with Marley again anytime soon. You know, who puts a tooth in a bell ornament to make it ring anyway?" Dean said, kicking off his shoes.

"I have no idea. They must have yanked the guy's tooth when he died. I guess maybe they needed something to make the bell ring, and they used whatever was lying around." Sam shrugged.

"I think I had a couple things in common with that ghost though. He obviously wasn't a big fan of Christmas, and he knew an ugly gift when he saw it." Dean laughed.

"Hey, it looks like it's going to be a white Christmas," Sam interjected, peering through the window.

"This night keeps getting better and better," Dean groaned. "It will be a bitch digging out the Impala tomorrow morning."

"I'm going to get us something to eat," Sam replied, ignoring Dean. "I saw a pizza place not too far from here. I think I'll walk. The traffic is going to be even worse with the snow now. I'm going to need to borrow a few dollars."

"That's because you gave all your money away," Dean said, handing him a ten dollar bill.

"I'll see if they can put some chestnuts on the pizza for you," Sam joked, pulling on his jacket.

"Just don't go giving all your money away on the way over there," Dean said, throwing the pillow at Sam's head.

Sam easily dodged it, shutting the door as the pillow dropped to the floor.

oooooooo

The snow was falling harder as Sam made his way down the street. He was actually looking forward to Christmas the next day. While they were researching in the library, he had told Dean he had to go to the bathroom. He had really snuck off to the music store that was just down the street and bought Dean a cassette of the Greatest Blues hits. While he was leaving to get the pizza, he had snuck the cassette in Dean's jacket pocket hoping to surprise him the next morning. Sure he would have to put up with listening to the songs too as they drove, but it would make Dean smile. He hadn't seen much of Dean's smile since their dad's death.

"Excuse me, sir."

Sam looked up to see a man dressed in a Santa costume, minus the beard, standing in front of him.

"I don't mean to bother you," the man continued. "But I got a truck that is stuck in the alley down there. I just loaded it up with gifts from the Salvation Army. They're for underprivileged kids. I have to deliver the stuff tonight or there is going to be a lot of disappointed kids tomorrow. You think you could give me a hand?"

Sam looked up and saw the Salvation Army sign. He glanced down the alley and he could see a small truck parked in the snow, snowflakes dancing in the illuminated headlights.

"Yeah I can help," Sam said, walking towards the alley.

"Thank-you. I'm Louis," The man said, extending his hand.

"I'm Sam," Sam replied with a smile, shaking his hand.

ooooooooo

"I think the back tire is stuck in some snow there," Louis said, when they reached the truck. "I have some shovels in the back that we might be able to use."

Sam walked to the back of the truck and peered down at the tire, just in time to see three other guys hop out of the back.

"These are Santa's helpers," Louis said, flashing a grin. In that instant, Sam detected something sinister in the man's smile.

"Give us your wallet, kid," One of the guys replied confirming Sam's suspicions. The other two surrounded Sam as Louis looked on amused.

Sam reached into his back pocket and handed over the wallet. He then tried to walk around the guys and get out of the alley.

"Not so fast there," The guy replied, placing a restrictive hand on Sam's chest. He handed Sam's wallet to Louis who apparently was the ringleader.

"I gave you what you wanted," Sam answered, cursing himself for being led into a trap like this. Dean was going to be so pissed.

"I bet mommy and daddy give you everything you want for Christmas," One of the guys sneered. "They probably send you to an Ivy League school and give you money anytime you need it."

Sam felt a rush of anger, but he held it off. He had to keep a clear head and just get out of the situation.

"Not much in here," Louis replied.

"That looks like a nice warm coat though," The third guy said, eyeing Sam's parka.

"I always wanted a pair of boots like that too," His partner replied.

Sam took this as a perfect opportunity to act. He shrugged off the jacket and threw it at the three guys, obscuring their vision if only for a second.

One of the men quickly recovered and lunged at Sam. Sam fought him off easily, his fist connecting with the guy's jaw. The cast on his right hand came in handy and the man was sent sprawling, just as another one came at him. Sam kicked him in the gut and then gave the guy an uppercut, knocking him into the third guy. Sam felt he had the upper hand, but he had forgotten about the burly Louis. Sam felt something solid connect with the side of his head, and he went down hard. He could feel something warm and sticky already oozing down his face. Sam dazedly looked up from the ground at Louis who was now wielding a shovel.

"Take what you want from him," Louis said to the three guys who were recovering from the blows Sam had inflicted.

Sam felt his boots being pulled off of him and his cellphone being taken from his pocket.

"He gave us all this nice stuff. We certainly can't let him go away empty handed. We have to give Sammy here a nice parting gift," One of the men said with a snicker.

They were on him in an instant. Sam felt the blows rain down on him, one after the other. He felt their boots connect with his ribs over and over again. Breath stealing pain coursed through his body. Sam tried in vain to shield himself, and put his arm over his side. They kicked him again. He heard a sickening crack as his arm broke. Sam cried out and weakly tried to roll away from them, but they kicked him in the back instead. One of them kicked him in the side of his already injured head. Sam turned his head as he saw the boot revving up to kick him again. The guy missed his mark, but stomped Sam violently in the throat. Sam saw spots dance before his eyes. He vaguely heard receding footsteps, then the truck start up and skid down the alley. He felt white hot pain lance through his ankle as one of the tires passed over his leg. Then blissfully he knew no more.

TBC

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Let Me know what you think :) 


	2. It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

A/N: First, I want to apologize for taking so incredibly long to update this story. Things got so hectic with the holidays and then I was supposed to update last Sunday on December 23, but my computer broke. I just got it back the other day. I was scared I was going to lose some of this update, but thankfully I didn't.

I want to say thank-you so much to everyone for the awesome response to the first part and thank-you to those I couldn't personally respond to as well. I hope you all had an amazing Christmas. I am going to try to get the next part out to you by this weekend/early next week. Unfortunately my computer is still having issues, so if it's not posted, my computer most likely didn't cooperate again.

I hope you enjoy this chapter and Happy New Year everyone!

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Dean looked outside as the snowflakes fell faster and faster. Sam had been gone for nearly an hour and he was starting to get anxious. He noticed Sam's footprints were now covered by the fresh snow. 

He picked up his cellphone, scrolled until he got to Sam's name and clicked send. He got Sam's voicemail. He tried again, but Sam still didn't answer.

He grabbed his jacket from the chair and quickly pulled it on. If Sam was out walking in a winter wonderland, he was going to kill him. Deep down he knew that wasn't the case though and it filled him with dread.

Dean retraced Sam's steps to the pizza place, lifting up the collar of his jacket as he was pelted with the wind and snow. He paused for a moment to call Sam again, but still got nothing. He was almost at the store when he saw it, partially buried in the snow. It was Sam's wallet. The money was gone, and it had been discarded. Dean noticed tread marks at the end of the alley, although they were mostly covered now. Dean looked down the alley, and noticed something, or someone, crumpled on the ground. Icy fear clenched in his gut.

He ran as fast as he could, slipping and sliding on the ice and snow. He fell to his knees beside Sam's still body.

"Sam! Sammy!" He yelled.

Sam was unconscious. He was curled on his side, his injured limb cradled to his chest. He had a large gash on the side of his head, the crimson blood a sharp contrast to the ashen pallor of his skin. Even the cold air did nothing to bring color to Sam's face. His hair was soaked from the falling snow and his eyelashes were encrusted with a thick layer of snow. He was clad only in a T-shirt, his jacket gone. Even his boots had been stolen. Dean reached out a shaky hand to check for a pulse. Sam's pulse was weak, but he was thankful he had one. Dean noticed that Sam's skin was icy to the touch, and tremors wracked his body. He quickly shrugged out of his own jacket, and covered Sam with it. He wanted to put the jacket on him, to warm him up better but he feared he would injure Sam further. He pulled out his cellphone and frantically called 911. He told them what happened, adding "Please hurry" before flipping the phone closed.

Dean returned to Sam, praying the paramedics would arrive soon. He knew Sam had been beaten up and robbed, that much was clear. He wondered how long Sam had been lying in the alley. Sam could easily have been mistaken for dirty laundry. _Or for a homeless person._ The realization hit Dean hard. Had someone seen Sam, and just ignored him because they thought he was a homeless person sleeping it off? Would he have thought that if he had casually walked by that alley?

Dean looked down and realized Sam's eyes were open.

"Hey. You're going to be okay," He said, clearing some of the snow from his brother's eyelashes.

Sam didn't say anything, but stared at him with wide and frightened eyes. Suddenly, Dean became aware of a strangled gasp coming from Sam. He knew Sam couldn't breathe. He suspected Sam had a punctured lung, possibly the result of some broken ribs. He pulled his brother into a sitting position, not caring anymore about what further injuries he might cause. Sam needed help now. He pulled Sam against his chest, hoping it would alleviate some of the pressure and make him breathe easier. Sam continued to gasp for air. He weakly reached out his right arm, pulling on Dean's sleeve as if he wanted to tell him something.

"Sam, what is it? Talk to me," Dean pleaded.

Sam raised his hand to his throat, touching it, before his hand fell limply to his side, the effort too much for him. A thin line of blood snaked out of the corner of his mouth.

Dean wiped it off with his own shirt and was reminded of when Sam was a baby. He could barely keep his food in the dish and he always had to wipe Sam's face with a bib. That memory used to make him smile, but not now. Dean looked at Sam's neck and he saw what Sam had been trying to tell him.

"Shit Sammy," He replied, taking in the heel print shaped bruise that was already turning purple around the edges on Sam's throat. The bastard had stomped Sam in the neck. Dean felt a shiver course through his body and he knew it had nothing to do with the snow or the frigid air.

Sam flexed his fingers twice as if he was waving. _He's waving goodbye_, Dean realized with startling clarity, as he heard one final, painful gasp before Sam's eyes slid shut.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, as he quickly laid Sam back on the ground. Sam's head lolled listlessly to the side, as Dean put his ear against Sam's mouth listening for breath. Dean waited, hoping to hear or feel the passing of breath on his skin, but there was nothing. He placed his ear against Sam's chest, but all he heard was the wind whipping against a wooden board, mocking him with the "thump thump" sound it made. Sam's heartbeat was either so faint that he couldn't tell it was beating or perhaps it wasn't beating at all.

"Don't you do this to me Sam!" Dean screamed, as he pinched Sam's nose and breathed into his mouth. However, there was no rise from Sam's chest. The air was not passing through his windpipe.

"That's not going to help."

At first Dean thought it was his own mind telling him that it was hopeless. There was nothing he could do for Sam and he was going to die on the cold, unforgiving ground. Then he looked up and instantly recognized the guy as the same man who had asked Sam for money before. The voice had belonged to him. Dean hadn't seen him come down the alley, but he stood before him now.

"My brother can't breathe." Dean heard the desperation in his own voice, how childlike and vulnerable he sounded but he didn't care.

"He hurt his trachea," The man said, motioning to his own neck. "It's blocking his airway. I can help." The man bent down beside Sam.

Dean looked up, conflicted. Then he looked down at Sam, whose lips now were tinged with blue, and put a protective hand on his brother's still chest.

"I have to cut a hole in your brother's neck so he can breathe. You're going to have to trust me on this. I was a medic in Vietnam. I had to do this before. Do you have a knife?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Get it now," The man said cutting him off. "He doesn't have much time. The ambulance is probably having trouble getting here because of the storm."

There was something familiar in the authoritative tone of the man's voice and Dean pulled up his pant leg and brandished the weapon.

"I'm going to need a pen too."

Dean had no reason to trust this man, but he didn't have anyone else. The one person he had thought he could trust his whole life had betrayed him and the other person was slipping away right in front of him. He handed the man the knife and searched his pants' pockets for a pen. Thankfully, he found one. He had taken it from the library earlier that morning.

Dean wasn't a squeamish person with all the gory things he encountered in his life. However, he had to turn away as the man made a thin slice right under the bruise on Sam's neck.

"I need you to unscrew the point of that pen and take the ink out," The man said, locking eyes with Dean.

Dean saw compassion and determination in those eyes, and quickly did as he was told. The man took the pen casing from Dean and carefully inserted it into Sam's neck.

"I'm going to need you to breathe into that, while I monitor his heartbeat."

Dean nodded his head and breathed into the tube. He noted that Sam's chest rose with his breath and that he was now able to give Sam air.

The man kept his hand on Sam's chest as Dean breathed into the tube, hoping he would see some sign of life from Sam. However, there was none.

"Please Sammy." Dean begged, as he furiously blinked back the hot sting of tears. Was it too late? Had he let this guy do more damage to his brother?

"His heartbeat seems a bit stronger," The man said interrupting his thoughts.

Dean put his ear against the tube and he could feel warm air passing through. The minimal amount of heat being emitted by Sam's breath overpowered the arctic air and warmed him to his very soul. Sam was breathing. Dean could hear sirens in the distance as well.

"I think he's breathing," Dean replied, releasing the breath he felt like he'd been holding. "You didn't tell me your name."

"It's Jason Riggs," The man said. "And it looks like the cavalry is here," Jason said as the sirens illuminated the darkened alleyway. "Sam's in good hands, Dean."

Dean looked up as the ambulance skidded to a stop in front of them. A male and female paramedic jumped out, grabbed their equipment, and ran over.

"What happened?" The female paramedic asked, as she bent down next to Sam.

"He was mugged," Dean said.

"What's his name?"

"His name is Sam. I'm his brother, Dean," Dean said, reluctantly stepping back so the paramedics could do their job.

"Did you do this?" The male paramedic asked, gesturing to Sam's neck.

"No, it was him," Dean said turning around, but Jason was already gone. "He hurt his neck and he couldn't breathe. There was a guy, but I guess he left. He helped me out when my brother stopped breathing. Was that the right thing to do?" Dean asked, fearing he had made his brother's condition worse.

"It most likely saved your brother's life."

"Probable concussion," The female paramedic interrupted, as she shined a penlight in Sam's eyes. She took a pressure bandage and applied it to Sam's head.

"Absent breath sounds on the right," The male added as he listened to Sam's lungs with a stethoscope. "The kid's cyanotic. He's not getting enough air."

"He's hypothermic too. His temperature is 93.3," His partner answered as she pulled a thermometer out of Sam's ear. He's not even shivering anymore."

"We got to roll."

The paramedics hooked up a heart monitor and IVs, and Sam was loaded on to the gurney quickly. They couldn't immobilize Sam completely, so they used rolled up blankets and taped his head to a backboard to keep his head still. The paramedics covered Sam with blankets while being mindful of his compromised airway.

As Sam was being wheeled into the ambulance, Dean's eyes drifted to the splotch of red in the snow. Blood. Sam's blood. It was so out of place against the purity of the white snow. It didn't belong there, just as Sam didn't belong in that ambulance. He didn't deserve to nearly die alone in an alley on Christmas Eve.

"Sir, are you coming?" The male paramedic asked Dean. He picked up Dean's jacket and handed it to him.

"Yeah," Dean replied coming out of his reverie.

Dean climbed into the back of the ambulance, his eyes on Sam as the paramedic adjusted IV drips. He took the jacket and draped it over Sam.

"He needs it more than I do," He said, his hand lingering for a moment on Sam's chest. He felt something warm slide down his face, and he knew it wasn't the melting snow.

The ride to the hospital was a slow one, the ambulance's windshield wipers barely keeping up with the falling snow. Dean noted with alarm that Sam's lips were growing bluer by the second as he saw the hospital's Emergency sign glowing like a beacon in the distance.

"He's in respiratory arrest!" The paramedic yelled as they pulled up at the doors of the hospital. They quickly unloaded Sam from the ambulance and rushed into the hospital, Dean racing to keep up.

"23 year old male victim of a mugging. Possible tracheal injury. He stopped breathing as we pulled up," The female relayed to the awaiting doctor. Sam was instantly whisked through the ER doors as Dean moved to follow. However, a nurse blocked his path.

"I'm sorry, sir. You can't go in there."

Dean ignored her, trying to catch a glimpse of Sam through the glass window. He was surrounded by a team of doctors, only his sock clad feet visible.

She steered him away from the doors and over to the waiting area.

"I need you to fill this out," She instructed, handing him a clipboard.

Dean sat down in one of the seats of the mostly empty waiting room. The clipboard contained the usual questions: Sam's name and age, allergies, and what age he had the chicken pox. That was an easy one. Dean would never forget that. Sam was five, itchy and miserable. Dean was in charge of taking care of him, but it didn't mean he didn't tease him relentlessly. He called Sam "Nat Nerd" in reference to the Pimply faced Garbage Pail Kid.

Dean almost chuckled at the memory, but found himself choking back a sob instead. He vigorously cleared his throat and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. They also wanted to know his relation to the patient. Dean reluctantly wrote down brother. _Some brother. It's not like I even deserve the title._ He quickly filled in the rest of the info. He handed it back to the nurse and resumed his waiting.

After several agonizing moments, Dean was rewarded with a doctor emerging through the swinging door.

"Are you here for Sam Parker?" The middle aged doctor asked. Dean noticed there was blood on his labcoat and he held down the surge of panic that swelled in his heart.

"Yes. I'm his brother, Dean."

"I'm Dr. Walton, the Thoracic surgeon on call," the doctor said, shaking his hand.

"Is Sam alive?" Dean asked, nervously.

"Yes, but you're brother suffered a number of injuries. He has a concussion and he's going to require some sutures in his head. He also suffered several broken bones and contusions. He broke some ribs, the ulna and radius in his arm, as well as his ankle. He's going to need rods to stabilize the break in his arm, but we should be able to set the bones in his ankle without surgery. The broken ribs did unfortunately puncture his lung, and we inserted a chest tube to re-inflate it. He sustained a bruised kidney as well, which we are going to monitor to make sure no breakthrough bleeding occurs. Sam is also suffering from exposure. His body temperature was far below normal when he was brought in and he suffered some minor frost bite to his exposed skin. We have him covered with a warming blanket. We are also giving him warm saline to try to bring up his temperature and warming his extremities slowly to prevent tissue loss."

"What about his neck?" Dean asked, fearing the answer. What if Sam was going to be confined to a wheelchair?

"The most serious injury was to your brother's neck. Thankfully Sam did not suffer any spinal injury but he suffered a tracheal rupture. He needs emergency surgery."

"But Sam will be okay right? After the surgery?"

"Mr. Parker, I'm not going to lie to you. Your brother's condition is extremely critical. He was admitted to the hospital in respiratory arrest. We had trouble stabilizing his airway in the ER. His heart stopped beating twice. Sam's system is overtaxed. He's hypothermic and we are trying to bring up his body temperature somewhat before we operate. However, the rupture needs to be repaired immediately. I'm going to need you to sign some consent forms."

"Can I see him before the surgery?" Dean asked, still trying to digest Sam's long list of injuries.

"After you sign the forms, I'll arrange a brief visit."

oooooooo

The doctor met Dean at the doors of the ER.

"There are some things you need to know before you see him," Dr. Walton began. "We had to revise the tracheotomy. We lowered it to prevent the tear in his trachea from worsening."

"So you had to cut another hole in my brother's neck?" Dean asked, horrified.

"Yes we did. We stitched the other one closed."

"So the one that we did outside made him worse?" Dean asked, stricken.

"No, it was necessary to allow your brother to breathe. He wouldn't have made it to the hospital alive if he didn't receive the emergency tracheotomy."

Dean found the doctor's words to be cold comfort. All he could think of was that his brother now had two holes in his neck.

Dean entered the ER, momentarily blinded by the overhead lights that glared against the linoleum.

The whole room spoke of urgency. Equipment on wheels surrounded Sam. Discarded rubber gloves and tubing littered the floor.

Dean approached the gurney slowly. A nurse was next to Sam draping a towel over his foot.

"You can come closer," The nurse said with a smile. "Sam only suffered minor frostbite. We warmed up his fingers and toes, and now I'm just covering them to make sure they stay warm."

Dean looked down at Sam. He wore a neck brace and a blue tube protruded from an opening in the collar. It was a sharp contrast to the crude tracheotomy Jason had performed in the alley, but Dean still found it unsettling. He could see the stitches from the other hole, just above the new one and he bit back a surge of nausea. Sam was covered in blankets, but Dean could still see the chest tube that snaked under them. Sam's left arm and leg had been splinted, his right arm still encased in the cast from his encounter with Angela. He couldn't believe his brother was going to have to deal with two broken arms now. A bandage was wrapped around his head and tufts of Sam's unruly hair stuck up at odd angles. It reminded him vaguely of a time when they were kids. They never had many toys. John believed in only taking what they could carry with them, so they had to find their own way to entertain themselves. He remembered Sam was six years old and bored in the cramped quarters of the hotel room. He had taken out the first aid kit and asked if Dean would play doctor with him. He hadn't really wanted to play, but Sam had given him that look. It was a look Sam could still give as an adult and make anyone want to give in to him. He thought of how even then, he wasn't completely able to protect Sam. Sam was smart and he was already beginning to understand the world around him, even though he tried to shield him as much as he could, and his games usually involved some kind of supernatural creature.

"_Let's pretend that a ghost knocked you out and your head is bleeding," Sam suggested, grinning excitedly._

"_Help! There's a ghost after me," Dean shrieked, running around and pretending to be scared._

"_I think he got me," Dean said, as he feigned that something struck him in the head and dramatically crumpled to the floor._

"_I'll save you," Sam said, coming to the rescue complete with siren sound effects._

"_You're going to be just fine," Sam smiled as he bandaged Dean's head up, winding the bandages around and around._

Then Sam decided Dean should have a turn being the doctor. So Dean had bandaged Sam's head up too. Sam's hair had stuck up all over just like it was doing now. He remembered John had been upset when he found the first aid kit had been used as a toy. Dean had told John it was his idea, taking the blame for Sammy. It didn't bother him that John scolded him instead.

_I wish I could take this for you now Sammy,_ He thought as he looked at Sam's injured body.

He wanted to reach out and hold Sam's hand, but the anesthetist was there now prepping him. He missed the times when he could just scoop Sam up in his arms, hug him, and tell him everything would be okay.

"We have to take him up now," The orderly replied, interrupting Dean's thoughts.

The bars were raised on the bed and the brakes released. Dean reached out a hand as Sam was wheeled away from him, but he grasped empty air. He wondered if that was what his future was going to be like now. He would reach for Sam, but he would only grasp empty air.

oooooooo

Dean sat in the waiting room. He picked up a magazine from the table next to the chair, trying to do something, anything to take his mind off of Sam being in surgery. The magazine was from 2002. Dean was surprised it was even that recent. He vaguely flipped through it, and then tossed it aside.

He could hear faint laughter coming from the nurse's station., giggles and whispered plans about the next day.

"Eric got Andy that bike he wanted. I can't wait to see the look on his face tomorrow morning." Dean heard bits and pieces of the conversation, each word punctuating the ache in his heart he had for Sam.

He glanced up at the overhead TV. There was some sitcom on. Dean had no idea what it was, but it showed some family having a Christmas feast around a table. He could figure out the scenario. It was always the same thing on those shows anyway. The family had suffered some minor tragedy. Dad had lost his job or Jimmy didn't get the baseball glove he wanted, but it was still the best Christmas ever. Dean grimaced in disgust. It wasn't like that in real life. _Certainly not for Sammy, _Dean thought bitterly.

Sam had never had a real Christmas, a Christmas with his mom, dad, a tree, and presents. He had at least had one, one that he remembered anyway. Sure he only recalled snatches of it. He tried to hold on to them as much as he could but they were often elusive: Sneaking some cookies before dinner. Twas The Night Before Christmas read by his mom. His mom chasing him around trying to get him to go to bed, but he was too excited. She was already growing round then, little Sammy making his presence known.

"_After Santa brings the presents tomorrow, you are going to get an even bigger present in a few months," Mary cooed, patting her belly and tucking him in. _

The thing that stuck with him was how safe and warm he felt. Sam had never known what it was like to be cocooned in his parents' love. He never knew his mom before she was just an image depicted in a fading photograph, or his dad before he got circles under his eyes and when he spoke without an edge to his voice.

He got up and started to pace, the waiting room suddenly feeling more confined than before. The snow was still piling up outside the window and Dean could hear faint church bells in the distance. He glanced at the clock. Midnight. It was Christmas day.

"Merry Christmas. What a joke," Dean said aloud with a bitter laugh. The waiting room was now empty. _At least some people are having a Merry Christmas, _Dean thought with disdain. A small Christmas tree stood in the corner. It was not enough to remove the bleak atmosphere of the waiting room. Upon closer inspection, Dean saw it was a Paper Angel tree. He walked closer and inspected the construction paper angel ornaments. He could tell a lot of them were probably written by the pediatric patients, judging by how the writing was in crayon. They were mostly wishes for new toys. He could see that some were written by parents though.

"Let Jordan's surgery go well so she can be home for Christmas," Dean read aloud.

Had this mother or father's wish come true? Somehow he doubted it. Good things didn't happen to nice people. Sam's broken body being operated on was the proof of that.

The tree itself was proof of it as well.

He recalled the Christmas when he had first discovered just what a Paper Angel tree was: Christmas 1990. He had wanted so much that year for Sam to have a good Christmas. Sam was seven and had finally grown tired of being creative with their supplies and turning them into toys. A seven year old's imagination could only be stretched so far. Sam had had enough of using toilet paper rolls as telescopes and pretending motel beds were boats and the carpet was shark infested water. John didn't deny them gifts at Christmas but they were practical: a new coat, a new hat, new weapons to be used later. They were all things that would come in handy on a hunt. Sam had liked those things but they were of no use to him when he was stuck in a hotel room for an extended period of time. It was hard to watch his brother see and hear the sights and sounds of Christmas around him, and not have it himself. Since his mother's death, there was never a tree or anything remotely resembling a Christmas tradition in the Winchester family unless you counted eating at a place that actually used real silverware. They had been in the mall that day. Dad had to make a stop at the hardware store. Sam had begged Dean to take him to the toy store.

"_Today we wrote letters to Santa in school. I told him I wanted that!" Sam exclaimed, excitedly pointing to a Thundercats action figure in the toy store window. "My teacher said Santa brings toys to all the good girls and boys in the world. Do you think maybe he'll come this year?"_

"_I don't know Sammy. Santa has a hard time finding us I think," Dean said, trying to let Sam down easy._

"_Nu-uh," Sam said with a defiant shake of his head, his curls bouncing in response. "My teacher said Santa always knows where you are no matter what."_

"_Well your teacher is…" Dean said tersely, stopping himself. He wanted to say his teacher was an idiot or his teacher didn't know what it was like to have John Winchester as a father, but Sam stood there looking at him expectantly._

_He turned away unable to look at the disappointment in Sam's eyes and that's when he saw the Paper Angel tree. There was a sign next to it that read: Help A Needy Child's Wish Come True This Christmas._

"_Why don't you go look around in here for a few minutes. I'll be right back," Dean said, steering Sam towards the entrance._

"_Okay," Sam said, brightening a little._

Dean remembered thinking how mad John would be if he knew he left Sammy alone. However, he had been able to see Sam as the Paper Angel tree faced the store. He had hurriedly read that he had to write Sam's wish on the ornament along with his name and the address the gift would be delivered to. He scrawled Sam and Thundercats figure and added the address of the hotel. He had left the mall feeling lighter.

On Christmas Eve, Sam rummaged around until he found something edible for Santa. The only thing they had that halfway resembled cookies were some saltines.

"_I am going to leave these for Santa. You think he'll mind?"_

"_No. He'll thank you later. He's fat enough as it is," Dean reassured him. _

"_I'm going to leave my letter for him right here," Sam said, depositing it on the table before bedtime._

"_Okay," Dean replied offhandedly._

_He was distracted. He repeatedly checked the front desk all day, but there was still no sign of Sam's gift._

Dean remembered Sam's face the next morning after the gift had not been delivered.

"_I guess you were right Dean. Santa couldn't find us or maybe he doesn't think I'm a good boy."_

He hadn't wanted to be right though. He wanted Sam to get the gift. Sam's request had seemed like such a small one. He couldn't understand why it hadn't been granted. He wondered then if maybe all that existed out there was the bad things that lurked in the shadows.

He had watched Sam rip up his letter to Santa, his bottom lip quivering. As the paper fell to the floor, he saw another piece of Sam's innocence being torn away.

"Mr. Parker?'

Dean was pulled from his thoughts by the voice of the nurse.

"Is there any news on Sam?" Dean asked.

"No, I'm sorry. There is an officer who would like to speak to you about your brother's attack."

Dean felt a momentary rush of panic. He didn't like the idea of talking to a cop, especially if there was an off chance he would recognize him from his wanted poster. He expected it was standard procedure though in the case of a mugging.

He hesitantly approached the portly, balding officer who seemed like he just wanted to get down to business.

"I understand you're the one who found your brother?"

"Yeah I was," Dean said, nodding grimly.

"You didn't see anyone leaving the scene did you?" The officer asked.

"No I didn't."

"Do you know what they stole from your brother?"

"I think they took his coat, his boots, and…uh… his cellphone," Dean said, thinking for a second. "Also, some money. He wasn't carrying much with him though." The Officer jotted everything down on a pad.

"I'd like to ask your brother if he could give us a description, but I heard he's…unable to speak right now," He stuttered, searching for the right words. "We suspect his attackers might be a group of men that have robbed several Salvation Armies up and down the East Coast. They are also wanted in a series of muggings and are suspects in the murder of a college student. He was beaten severely and unfortunately didn't make it. Their M.O. is asking people for help before they rob them. He was just a kid doing a good deed. Like your brother," the officer said, sympathetically.

_Yeah another good kid that got nothing in return,_ Dean thought, angrily.

"They never get much from the muggings," the officer continued. "It seems that they just get a charge out of hurting innocent people."

Dean would have liked to say he was surprised, but he wasn't. This stuff happened far too often.

"We'll keep you informed if we find the guys. Good luck with your brother," the officer said, turning away.

"Wait," Dean said, stopping him. "I was wondering if you could help me find someone."

"Who?" The officer asked.

"There was this homeless guy. He helped my brother and I'd like to repay him somehow, give him a warm meal or a hotel room or something."

"You have a name?"

Dean wasn't sure if he should mention the man's name. After all, he had taken off when the paramedics arrived. Maybe he didn't want to be found. Maybe he was in some kind of trouble himself. However, Dean really wanted to find him and thank him for everything he had done.

"He said his name was Jason Riggs."

"I'll run on a search on his name and get back to you," The officer said, jotting down the name as well.

"Thanks," Dean said.

Dean returned to his chair in the waiting room. He rubbed at his eyes, fighting the pull of sleep. He would not let himself sleep until he knew Sam was going to be okay. The nurses were still carrying on at the nurse's station, and he listened again as a way to keep himself awake. This time they sounded upset about something.

"I just got a call from the Santa service. It looks like with this weather, the guy won't be able to get here tomorrow for the kids," One nurse said.

"The kids were looking forward to it so much too," Another replied, sadly.

He shook his head.

"Figures," he mumbled.

"Mr. Parker?"

Dean jumped up, startled by the sound of the doctor's voice.

"How is he?" He asked, quickly striding over to him.

"Why don't we have a seat?" The doctor said, gesturing to the chairs in front of him.

Dean felt his stomach fall, fearing the doctor was going to tell him that Sam hadn't made it.

Dean shook his vehemently.

"No," He said, licking his lips, his throat suddenly incredibly dry. "Just tell me."

The doctor nodded.

"First, let me start with the good news. Sam made it through the operation and we managed to repair the tear."

Despite not wanting to sit, Dean sat down in the nearest seat, feeling like his legs would no longer support him. _Sammy was alive. _At that moment, it was all he could focus on even if the doctor was hinting that he was going to tell him some bad news too.

"How did it go?" Dean asked.

"The surgery was very touch and go. We lost him a couple of times again but fortunately, we were able to get him back."

"You mean his heart stopped beating again?" Dean asked. He felt panic setting in again and had an inkling that this was the bad news the doctor was talking about.

"Yes it did. The bad news is that your brother's condition is still very critical," Dr. Walton continued, confirming Dean's fears. "The mortality rate for the injury Sam suffered is very high. Many people don't even make it through surgery."

"But Sam did make it through. He's already beaten the odds. So what's the problem?"

"It is a testament to Sam that he pulled through, but there is still a lot to be concerned about. Right now, Sam isn't breathing on his own and he's on a ventilator. The fact that his heart stopped beating several times shows how fragile Sam's hold on life is right now."

"Is he going to make it?" Dean asked, a lump forming in his throat.

"I can't say for sure. Only time will tell. The next 24-48 hours will be crucial. It's up to Sam."

"Can I see him?"

"Ortho is finishing up in there right now on his arm. As soon as we have him settled in the ICU, you can see him."

Dean nodded, and watched the retreating figure of the doctor.

oooooooo

Awhile later, Dr. Walton came to get him and he followed him to Sam's room. Some of the doors of the other patients' rooms were ajar and he could see into them as he walked down the hallway. Many of the people looked lifeless and it made him scared to see his brother. Some of the patients had people by their beds, family members or loved ones and he thought how it wasn't Christmas for these people. Every day was the same for them as they were caught in a horrible nightmare that they could not wake up from. Now he was caught in it too.

"I just want to prepare you again before you see him," Dr. Walton began, as they stopped outside of Sam's room. "Sam still has the chest tube and we will be keeping that in for awhile until his lung heals. Ortho successfully stabilized the breaks in his arm during surgery, and set the bones in his ankle as well. He will have to wear casts for a few weeks. They also checked the previous injury to his other arm and they don't think he suffered any further damage to it from the attack. Your brother still has the tracheotomy and he's also on the ventilator like we discussed. We are hoping we can wean him off of it when he's conscious."

"When will that be?" Dean asked, tentatively.

"It's hard to say. He could wake up in a matter of hours or it could be days. When Sam's ready, he'll wake up."

Dean thanked the doctor and opened the door to Sam's room.

"Hi, I'm Maggie. I'm Sam's nurse," the nurse at Sam's bedside replied, greeting him when he walked in. She was tucking the blankets around Sam and obscuring Dean's view of his brother. She moved away and Dean finally saw him. His eyes instantly fell on the tube protruding from Sam's neck. The neckbrace was no longer there, and the tube seemed to stand out even more than before. Dean quickly cast his eyes elsewhere to avoid looking at it. He looked at Sam's chest as it rose and fell hoping to find comfort in the fact that Sam was alive. However, it rose and fell mechanically with the whoosh and click of the ventilator, and was just a further reminder of Sam's condition. He glanced at Sam's face and saw that the bulky bandage from before had been replaced with just a small bandage on the side of Sam's head. He could see dark bruises that had probably taken a little while to develop, now standing out against the paleness of Sam's skin. He felt anger begin to bubble to the surface for the men who had done this to him, and he struggled to push it down. He noticed Sam's lips looked bloodless and it bothered him how they weren't parted naturally like when Sam usually slept. Sam's left arm was now encased in a cast that went higher than the other one, just above his elbow. Sam's left leg was also in a cast and was propped up on some pillows.

"Sam's resting comfortably," Maggie continued.

Dean thought that it sounded ridiculous but he didn't respond.

"I'll be back frequently to check on him but if you need anything, don't hesitate to call," she said, when he didn't say anything. "Before I leave, I wanted to give this to you."

She walked over to the chair and retrieved his jacket.

"I just thought you'd like your coat back Sometimes these rooms can get kind of chilly. Let me know if you want a blanket or anything."

"Thank-you," he said, taking the coat from her. She gave him another small smile and left the room, softly closing the door behind her. Dean felt like he was at a loss, now that he found himself alone with his brother. He bunched the coat in his hands, and then finally tossed it behind him on to the chair. The coat landed on the chair but then fell to the floor. Something fell out of the pocket and skittered across the room. He picked up the coat and then bent down to pick up the small, square shaped package. It was wrapped in Christmas wrapping paper, and said: To Dean. He opened it up and found a cassette tape. There was also a card attached and it read: I'll remember the rules next time. Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole.

-Sam

"Damn it Sam!" He exclaimed out loud. "How could you be so stupid? How could you trust people and let yourself be led into a trap like that?"

He held the cassette in his hand, ready to fling it but then he stopped himself in mid motion. His eyes fell on Sam's silent features and he collapsed in the chair, dropping his face into his hands. He allowed the tears to streak down his face.

He couldn't be angry with his brother. Isn't that what he had always wanted for Sam? Isn't that what he loved about his brother? How despite everything, he still saw the good in people? It was hard to hold on to good memories when most of them were stamped out by something terrible. However, Sam somehow managed to. He even saw the good in him when he was lashing out. Even when he had physically lashed out at _him. _He wondered what this attack would do to Sam, if that small piece of innocence he held within himself would be gone for good. He mourned for his injured brother, how those men had robbed him when he was just trying to help, and how they probably robbed his last shred of innocence in the process.

He sat there for several moments until suddenly he heard machines sounding in the room and he looked up in alarm.

"Sammy…" He said, as if he was willing him to tell him what was happening.

The door burst open and people flooded the room. Dean listened as the doctor shouted, "His Sats are dropping! I need suction!" He strained to see over the people's heads that were surrounding Sam. He could see his brother's lips were again turning blue. He then found himself being hustled out of the room. He stood outside in the hall, feeling hollow, and confused as to what was going on. The only thing he knew was that Sam might be slipping away in that room. It couldn't happen. He wouldn't let it. He had so much that he still needed to tell Sam.

He found himself turning away from the door, and walking purposefully towards the waiting room. He walked over to the Paper Angel tree. He found some angels cut out already and he took one.

He grabbed a pen and scrawled: Please let Sammy be okay. Then he added the ornament to the tree.

TBC


	3. O Come All Ye Faithful

A/N: Wow it's been awhile, a really long while. I commend you if were one of the people who read this story when it was first published over four years ago and have been eagerly waiting on an update. I never intended for it to take so long to complete this story. I was pretty sure I knew how I wanted it to end. However, life kind of happened and I went through some rough times. I'm still dealing but I just try to take it day by day. The story is finally complete so you won't have to wait too long for next chapter. This was only intended to be three chapters but now it is four. The story did evolve somewhat so I'm not sure it turned out exactly the way I wanted it to or the way I hoped. However, I hope you enjoy this chapter and if you are just discovering this fic for the first time, I hope you like it.

A/N 2: I would like to thank my friends Amy, Dawn, and Jess for taking me back after 3 and a half years missing, still talking to me, and calling me "friend." Thank-you Dawn for the medical info you gave me way back when, and Jess for the encouragement to finish this. Also, a very special, heartfelt thank you to Amy for always being there when I need her and being there to talk when I am going through some difficult times. She truly showed me that there is a lot of good in the world too. I'd also like to thank the readers and apologize for not getting caught up and replying to reviews. I do appreciate all the reviews, pms, and even threats that I got to finish this. They did inspire and motivate me. Again, thanks so much.

* * *

He stared at the tree for a moment, the lights on it beginning to blur as his eyes filled up with unshed tears.

"Mr. Parker?"

Dean whipped around at the sound of the doctor's voice.

"Sa…am?" He questioned, his voice cracking.

"Sam's okay," the doctor said. "He experienced an issue with his tracheotomy, but he's stable once again."

"So his heart didn't stop beating?"

"No it didn't."

Dean took a deep breath, shakily running a hand through his hair.

"What happened?" He asked, once he had composed himself.

"Sam developed a mucus plug in his trach which caused his Sats to fall. People with a tracheotomy usually aren't able to cough up secretions themselves and they need to be suctioned. We suctioned it and Sam's Sats are okay once again."

"Can I go back in there?" Dean asked.

"Sure. You can sit with him again."

oooooooo

Dean tiptoed back into the room as if he was worried he'd disturb his brother, but really right now all he wanted was for him to wake up and show he was okay.

He walked over to the bed and pulled up a chair so he could sit. He once again took in Sam's appearance. Sam's lips were no longer blue and back to a normal rosy pink. However, the moonlight from the parted blinds cast a glow on Sam's face making him look paler. He looked so fragile, he wasn't sure if there was anything he could touch without eliciting pain from Sam. He reached down and grasped two of the fingers on his right hand and held tight. He noted that Sam's hand felt warm in contrast to how frigid his skin felt in the alley.

"Hey little brother, it's Christmas. Well, technically since it's after midnight. I think you should wake up. You wouldn't want to sleep through Christmas now, would you?"

He looked at Sam's face for any sign at all, but there was none.

"I found your present. I liked it a lot. You made a good choice. I wouldn't have thought you could pick out a good tape, after you didn't know much about Robert Johnson." He flashed back to that hunt and how Sam had tried to get through to him, how worried he was for him that in his state of mind he might actually consider a trade of his soul for their father's. He remembered Sam asking him if he really had thought about it and how he'd tuned him out. He had turned up the radio, and completely ignored him. He felt guilt settle in like a parasite, wrapping around his mind and making it hard for him to think straight.

He needed Sam more than anyone in the whole world. Even when he pushed him away and acted like he was sick of Sam prying and wanting to discuss how he was feeling, he needed him to be there, to keep sticking his nose where it didn't belong, showing him just how much he cared. Coming to terms with what their dad did for him was very difficult but Sam made it easier somehow, just by being there, and he couldn't go on without him. Having Sam wake up would be the greatest Christmas gift, the greatest gift of all that he could ever receive.

"Sam, I need you to wake up," he began, barely containing the sob that threatened to erupt from his lips. "I…I need you," he finished, his voice dropping off as he struggled to rein in his emotions.

He sat by Sam's side, until the sun tickled his eyelids and he realized that he had fallen asleep at some point. Sam's condition seemed to be unchanged as he looked the same as he had a few hours before. Dean got up and stretched his arms above his head. He walked to the window, looking out at the world below. The snow had ceased considerably and the sun was starting to peek out behind some clouds. It probably was the ideal Christmas morning for some people out there, but the only white Christmas he was experiencing was being suffocated by an avalanche of white walls.

He barely had turned away from the window, when he heard the alarms sounding once again.

"Damn it," he cursed. "Not again."

Sam's nurse, Maggie, rushed into the room and immediately began hooking up an apparatus.

She locked eyes with Dean and held up her hand, motioning him back.

"Don't worry," she said, obviously aware of the panic in his eyes. "Sam just needs to be suctioned again."

She unhooked Sam's ventilator and machines sounded even more loudly in the room. She threaded the thin tube through Sam's trach and moved it around. She then hooked the vent back up and the loud beeping stopped. She looked at the monitors and Dean could see along with her that the numbers were indeed coming back up.

She checked Sam over, pausing to listen to his lungs. Dean thought that he saw something on her face, but she turned away too quickly. She put a thermometer in Sam's ear and then jotted some stuff down on a clipboard at the end of his bed.

"I'm going to page Sam's doctor and tell him he had another episode," she said, collecting the equipment.

"Is something wrong?" Dean asked, the look on her face suddenly making him worry.

"I think you should wait until Dr. Walton looks at him."

"Please…if there's something…He's my brother," Dean stuttered.

"Sam's temperature is elevated and his lungs sound slightly congested," she said, softening. "It could be signs of an infection."

Dean felt his heart rate pick up. He doubted his brother, in such a weakened state, had it in him to fight an illness.

Dr. Walton arrived moments later and ordered that Sam be placed on antibiotics to stave off any developing infection. He couldn't be sure if Sam was developing post operative pneumonia or the temperature was just Sam's body reacting to the trauma it had experienced. Dean watched as the new IV bag was placed and he continued his silent vigil.

The day was turning into night when he received his first glimmer of hope: Sam scrunching up his flushed with fever face. He jumped up from the uncomfortable chair he was sitting in, not noticing the painful cramp he had developed in his back and leaned over Sam.

"Sam? Sammy," he coaxed quietly.

Sam slowly opened his eyes as if it was tremendously difficult and took all the strength he could muster. Dean wondered if it was because of the incredible swelling and bruising that surrounded Sam's face.

"Hey," Dean replied when Sam's eyes met his. Sam's face contorted considerably and Dean was unsure what was happening or what Sam was trying to express. Suddenly tears began to splash down Sam's face, but the thing that struck Dean was how silent it was. Sam was crying but there was no sound. Sam's face strained and he struggled to move, to tell him something but no words could form in Sam's throat.

Dean had thought seeing Sam breathe through a tube in his neck was the worst thing he could ever experience but he realized he was wrong. Seeing his brother cry soundlessly was by far the most horrible.

Sam continued to try to speak, oblivious to the fact that he was no longer capable. He began to mouth words and Dean watched, frozen to the spot.

_You were right._

A chill ran down Dean's spine. _No._ He wasn't a trained lip reader but he was almost sure of it. Sam was telling him that he was right. This was what he had feared most, that Sam would lose all faith and believe he had been right all along, that there really wasn't any good left in the world.

He felt himself bolting for the door, to call for the doctor. He questioned if it was because the doctor should know Sam was awake or if it was more that he had to get out of there.

He found Maggie just outside the door and he struggled to find words himself.

"S…Sam's awake," he managed to get out.

"I'll page Dr. Walton," she said.

Dean walked back into the room and the alarms began blaring again. Sam was opening and closing his mouth, the blue tinge forming again on his lips. He resembled a goldfish that had been pulled out of its fishbowl and now was struggling to survive.

Horror struck as he was, Dean ran over to the bed in an attempt to calm Sam down.

"Sammy, please. It's okay. You're in the hospital and you can't talk right now. The doctor is on his way." The tears continued to fall down Sam's face and a look of sheer panic filled his eyes as he struggled to suck in air.

Dr. Walton and a team descended on Sam, ushering him out of the room yet again. He sat outside the door this time, sliding down the wall to the floor, his head in his hands. He let his own tears come. Chick flick moments and pride be damned. This was just too hard.

_Right. Right. Right. Right. _Sam's soundless words echoed in his head so loudly that he put his hands over his ears. _No, I never wanted to be right._

"Dean?"

He looked up again to see Dr. Walton standing over him.

"You okay son?" He asked, genuinely concerned about his well being.

"Just tell me what's going on," he answered slowly rising to his feet.

"Well as you saw, Sam woke up. Despite what it looked like to you, it's a good sign. It shows he is fighting. His temperature is still a lot higher than I'd like but we just have to keep an eye on it and hope the medication does its job. He had another mucus plug and we took care of it. His vitals are stable."

"Why…why couldn't he speak?" Dean asked, tremulously. Visions of a completely mute Sam filled his head. He couldn't bear to think of his Sammy sitting beside him without rambling on or throwing out some useless scholarly factoid. He couldn't imagine not being able to hear him complaining about his taste in music or singing along offkey to the song.

"It's the trach. He won't be able to talk as long as he is hooked up to the ventilator. Right now his lungs need to rest so he needs to stay on it. Hopefully we can wean him off of it once he's better and Sam will be able to block the vent hole and speak in a whisper."

Dean nodded dumbly.

"But why was he crying?"

"It's hard to say. He could have been in pain or confused. We gave him something for the pain. He'll most likely sleep the rest of the night."

"But he wanted to tell me something. I just know it. He did try to tell me something," Dean said. He was sure of it, and he feared he was correct and that deep down he knew what Sam had been struggling to say.

Dr. Walton nodded in sympathy.

"The best thing for Sam now is rest. I think you could use some of your own too," Dr. Walton said, patting Dean on the arm.

"No, I want to spend Christmas with my brother," Dean said and he hurried back into the room.

Dean tiptoed back into the room. Sam was sleeping once again. His face slightly sweaty but still. He looked as peaceful as Dean guessed anyone in Sam's situation could look but he still saw the remnants of tears on his face.

"Sam I'm not sure if you can hear me right now but I think I know what you were trying to say and I don't want to hear it little brother. So don't say it," Dean said as he took a washcloth and cleaned Sam's face.

He wasn't right. He was wrong. He understood it now. Sam wasn't wrong to want to give the homeless guy money. In fact, what made him or Sam any different than him? They didn't have a home either. The Impala was pretty much the only home they had ever known. It was the only home Sam had ever known, that much was true. If Sam hadn't helped the guy, he might not have been there to help him to save his brother's life.

Sam wasn't wrong to be deceived by or want to help those guys in the alley at first either. Sam wanted those kids to get their gifts. He and Sam were kids once too, in need of a helping hand at Christmas. They were the less fortunate, in need of Christmas cheer.

"Sam, I need you to wake up and tell me what a jerk I am and how wrong I was, not agree with me okay?" He said as he tucked in the blankets around Sam.

Dean looked up at the clock. It was nearing midnight. Christmas was over. He had received his wish. Sam had woken up for him but he couldn't find it in himself to be truly thankful. Sam wasn't out of the woods yet. He was still fighting to heal physically but most difficult of all he would have to heal mentally as well.

ooooo

The next couple of days passed in a blur for Dean. Sam's fever had spiked higher as he fought off the throes of infection, the antibiotics apparently not fast enough to stop Sam from getting sick all together. Dr. Walton was clear in his diagnosis this time. Sam was fighting pneumonia and he might not make it through the battle. He recalled bits and pieces of conversation with Dr. Walton and phrases such as "system is too weak," "not responding," and "might not make it." He had argued with the doctor wondering why he seemed hopeful the first night Sam had woken up but now was unsure that Sam would pull though.

"These things are unpredictable. We don't always have all the answers," Dr. Walton had said.

_Damn right you don't,_ he thought bitterly.

Despite the doctor being kind to him overall, he wanted to punch him. Thoughts of violence permeated his brain. He wanted to lash out at someone. He also couldn't get the image of murdering the men who had done this out of his brain either. He would definitely do worse than punch them, he knew that.

_Focus on the good, _he thought. It became his mantra. He was going to be like Sam. Despite all this, Sam was still alive and he needed to keep his mind zeroed in on that fact.

He looked down at Sam's fever ravaged body and bit back the anger at the irony in the situation. Sam had nearly frozen to death and now it was the heat threatening his life right now. His cheeks were bright red, a pained look crossing his brow every so often. Dean wondered how much pain Sam was really in. The doctor had to stop Sam's pain medication because it affected his breathing and right now the vent was working overtime as Sam's weak and damaged lungs struggled to suck in oxygen.

He watched as nurses came in and out of Sam's room. Each visit was a mixture of IV bags being changed, vitals being checked, and worst of all frequent suctioning. Dean couldn't bring himself to watch the entire procedure each time they removed the mucus hindering Sam's breathing. Not to mention, the gurgling sound it made turned his stomach.

_What's wrong with you Dean?_ He questioned himself. He had seen some of the most hideous monstrosities one could imagine. This was different. This was his brother. He needed to be there.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked Maggie a couple days after Christmas as she removed the vent and began to do something to Sam's trach tube.

"I'm removing the inner tube. It needs to be cleaned," She said simply as she went to work.

Dean looked on as she slid out the tubing and phlegm like material came along with it.

He tried to be stoic. He really did. He smiled wanly at Maggie, but then he found himself clutching at his stomach and the next thing he knew he was in the men's bathroom, dry heaving.

He splashed cold water on his face, swallowing back bile.

_God if that was coming out of his brother's lungs, what chance did he have?_

He made his way back to Sam's room but instantly noticed something was amiss. His door was closed and alarms were sounding.

Maggie walked out of the room and he didn't understand what she was doing. She should be in there, fixing it. Why was she outside?

"What's going on?" He asked, frantically.

"Dean," She began carefully.

"Tell me," he begged.

"Sam stopped breathing, which caused his heart to stop as well. They are doing what they can."

**TBC**


	4. Angels We Have Heard On High

A/N: I'm so sorry that this took much longer to update than I promised. I have been really busy and I kept tweaking this story, even up to the very minute that I am trying to post this, meaning right now. I figured I better post it before I go crazy. I want to thank everyone again for the amazing reviews. I am floored! It was so cool to see people who started reading this story 4 years ago come back and stay with it. I also want to say thank-you for the pms I got wondering where this was. Also, apologies to the people who reviewed that I couldn't personally respond to. Thank-you again!

Now here, finally, is the conclusion to the story. It's been a ride but thanks for being there.

* * *

Dean stood there in complete shock. How could this happen? He had chosen the one moment to completely flake out, the moment Sam needed him the most. Sam was his brother and he couldn't even be there in his darkest moment. Sam was there for total strangers and now might very well be losing his life. He cursed himself for his behavior.

Finally, he rushed past Maggie and into the room. He was not leaving his brother now. A team was surrounding Sam's bed, and they pumped on his bruised chest painfully. They had removed the vent and were pumping air through the hole in Sam's neck.

Dean looked on helplessly. It was over. Sam had tried he really had. He had made it through Christmas for him. If this was it, he had to let him go. He had even woken up for him but he couldn't allow himself to think that his last memory of Sam would be soundless tears and the mute, yet deafening, words, "You were right."

He watched as his brother was injected with epinephrine and as he was shocked again and again with the defibrillator. There was a litany of medical jargon being thrown around but he was oblivious to all of it. He didn't even register Maggie standing next to him and attempting to remove him from the room. All he could hear was the long beep that meant Sam's heart wasn't beating.

Finally he heard it, ever so faint but then increasing in intensity, beeping.

"Is he alive?"

Dr. Walton looked over at him, noticing him there for the first time apparently. He looked haggard and worn, sweating, and Dean thought he saw something else in his face right before he nodded, releasing the weight of the world off Dean's shoulders. It was relief.

Despite the words he had exchanged with him before, he respected him. Maybe Sam had truly influenced him, but he believed he actually cared if his brother made it or not.

"Thank-you," Dean said simply. Thank-you."

Dr. Walton blamed Sam's crashing on a number of factors including his pneumonia, and a sudden lack of oxygen due to the deep congestion in his lungs. Sam's hypoxia had caused his heart to stop. He decided to try Sam on a new antibiotic and ordered Sam be placed on humidified treatments through the ventilator attached to his trach. It involved humidified air and medication to be delivered to Sam to try to break up some of his lung congestion.

Sam remained mostly unconscious and even more incoherent than the Christmas morning when he had awakened for the first time. He had opened his eyes a few times but only long enough to give a somewhat bleary eyed, confused stare and drift back into oblivion. Dean wondered deep down if it was intentional and Sam was trying to escape the prison that was now his body. He couldn't communicate, or really move with all the plaster he was sporting. What bothered him most was that he couldn't quite read Sam when he awoke. He had met his eyes at times but he didn't give anything away.

He couldn't help but jump each and every time the alarm sounded because Sam's Sats had fallen again due to another mucus plug.

It was just before New Year's though when Sam finally turned a corner.

"I have good news for you this morning," Maggie declared. "Sam's fever has broken. His lungs sound much better now too."

"Really?" Dean asked.

"Well the congestion isn't as bad. Sam might require more suctioning but this points to the infection clearing."

"More suctioning?" Dean grimaced.

"Well it's a good thing that the secretions come out to keep Sam breathing well."

Dean heard a slight rustling sound and looked over at Sam on the bed. He was moving ever so slightly and scrunching his face again. He smacked his lips as if he had a sour taste in his mouth.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned, walking over to the bed. He was unsure how he'd wake up this time and if he'd be aware of what was going on.

Sam slowly cracked open his eyes and this time Dean knew that he was awake for real. Sam's eyes no longer contained the glaze of fever and they were clear. He could tell just what Sam was feeling. There was no panic, only the look of satisfaction that his brother was there.

"I'll go get Dr. Walton," Maggie said, apparently not wanting to interfere with the moment.

"Sam, you can't talk right now," Dean said, tentatively, not certain how he should explain Sam's injuries to him. He wasn't sure how much Sam even remembered about the last few days or if he remembered him explaining to him that he couldn't speak.

Sam looked at him expectantly as he wasn't sure how to respond either.

"You can't talk but you can nod though, right?" Dean asked, nodding profusely. He felt somewhat stupid and looked like a bobble head doll but it was all he had. "Do you remember what happened?" He asked, nervously.

Sam nodded, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. He turned his head away from Dean into the pillow.

"Be careful Sam. That tube is helping you breathe. You don't want it to come loose," Dean scolded. "The guys who did this to you messed up your trachea so you've been on a vent for almost a week. You've been pretty out of it. You understand?"

Sam didn't respond but kept his head turned away. Dean got the message that Sam just didn't want to talk about it.

Dr. Walton interrupted Dean's prodding by walking in the door wanting to examine Sam.

"Son, the police officers are outside. They'd like to speak to you," He added.

"I'll be right back Sammy, okay?"

Sam answered this time and nodded yes.

The same two officers that had been there the night Sam was attacked were back.

"We got them," they said, the minute Dean walked out of the room.

"You did?" Dean asked. For just a moment, he felt rage fill his abdomen and burn for a moment until he reined it in. He was going to focus on the good, like Sammy.

"Yeah. A good samaritan called the police when he spotted a van lingering outside an apartment complex. They had just broken into a place and stolen some Christmas gifts. Resident had just arrived home and they were about to make another attack. Luckily the person kept a safe distance and called it in. No one was hurt."

Another person looking out for other people, _like Sammy_, Dean thought warmly, comforted in knowing that there were others out there.

"Good news is that hopefully your brother won't even have to testify. We have tons of stolen goods as well as an eyewitness account."

"That's good," Dean said, sincerely, knowing that Sam would not be able to testify anyway.

"Not to mention all the colorful evidence your brother left on the guys."

"Evidence?" Dean asked, confused.

"Yeah, your brother didn't go down without a fight. A couple of the guys still have some nasty bruising on their faces."

Dean couldn't hold back the small smile that spread across his face.

"Well we don't want to keep you. Is your brother doing better?"

"Yeah he is. I think we're both going to be okay," Dean answered.

"One more thing," the officer began. "You know that guy? Jason Riggs? The one you wanted us to find for you."

"Did you find him?" Dean asked.

"Well kind of. Apparently the real Jason Riggs is dead. He was a homeless Vietnam vet that was murdered when he intervened on a mugging. He saved the lady's life but lost his own. Must be a case of mistaken identity or maybe this guy is using his buddy's name. It happens a lot around here."

_Maybe you should listen to your brother. Sam's in good hands Dean._

The words echoed in Dean's head.

"Yeah that must be it," Dean said, lying. He knew exactly what happened. There was no way Jason could have known all that info. He had never even told him Sam was his brother or given him their names. It all made sense.

"Dean?" Dr. Walton said, exiting the room as the officers walked off.

"How's Sam?" Dean asked.

"He's doing amazingly well. Honestly if you had asked me a few days ago if Sam was going to make it, I would have been doubtful but I think there is every reason to believe Sam will make a complete recovery. He still has a road ahead of him but he's taken the first steps. I'll be back to check on him later."

"Thank-you doctor," Dean replied.

"I have to tell you," Dr. Walton began sheepishly, looking unsure if he should reveal this to Dean but thinking better of it. "I'm going to be retiring soon and lately I haven't seen too many happy endings. I feel like I should thank Sam for giving me something too."

Dean smiled at the doctor as he walked off. Sam would probably laugh at him for this but he savored in the warm feeling the doctor's words gave him for a moment before returning to Sam's room.

ooooo

Dean's sense of relief continued when Dr. Walton removed the chest tube because he felt Sam's lungs were showing signs of healing. However, he wanted Sam on the vent awhile longer to ensure a better, smoother transition and that Sam's lungs healed completely. Sam was also still having some difficulty breathing on his own. The adjustment was difficult for Sam though as he struggled to let the machines truly do the breathing for him. Sam still showed signs of panic every time he needed to be suctioned too.

"Can I do it?" Dean blurted out when Maggie walked in to help Sam. She had unhooked the vent and a scared looking Sam was anxiously staring back at him.

"Do you want to learn?" Maggie asked somewhat surprised.

"Yeah, save you the trouble," Dean said. He really wanted to know so he could help Sam as quickly as possible and avoid having to look into his brother's frightened eyes. He also wanted to redeem himself for the episode he had when he had to run out of the room before.

"Sure," Maggie smiled. "I think Sam would appreciate it too," she said, practically reading his mind.

Maggie walked over to Sam and explained how she had unhooked the machine. This was the part Dean hated the most as Sam soundlessly gasped for air.

He put his hand on Sam's own to soothe him. "You're fine. Just 30 seconds, okay?" Dean offered.

"Now take this," Maggie said, handing him the tube. "And thread it right here."

Dean shakily did as he was told, threading the tube through the opening in Sam's neck. He heard the usual slurping sound so he knew he must be doing it correctly. Despite the noise, he looked down at Sam to see complete trust staring him back in the face, giving him the confidence he needed to finish the steps.

"Great job!" Maggie praised him. "You are an old pro at this."

Dean carefully hooked everything back up and watched as Sam settled down.

"You feel better now?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded.

oooooo

Getting used to the silence was difficult for Dean. He felt he was rambling on and on at times while Sam looked on. He did his best to include Sam in the conversations but sometimes yes and no questions went only so far. He hadn't brought up the subject of what happened that night since Sam woke up.

Even though he felt he was finally being the person he needed to be for Sam, he couldn't help but feel powerless to get through the emotional wall he had put up. Sam seemed to be in as good spirits as he could be and Dean didn't want to bring up anything that would come back to haunt his brother.

Suddenly, Dean knew just the right words to say. Dean wasn't sure where the memory had come from but he began to tell Sam.

"When you were just a baby Sam, Mom would read me this story called The Velveteen Rabbit. You know that story?"

Sam nodded.

"Of course you do, Geekboy."

A smile tugged at the corner of Sam's lips.

Mom got me this book for Christmas, Sam and I kept asking her to read it to me. You were there the first time she read it, in mom's stomach, but then you were there too to in person to hear it after you were born. I think she wanted to get an early start on turning us into little nerds. She was powerless with me, but it clearly worked on you," Dean said, with a wink. "Anyway, I remember the first time she read it, I was sad." He looked over at Sam to gauge his reaction.

"Don't laugh Sam. I want to hear you talking again, just not cheap jabs about Dean and the cute little bunny."

Sam rolled his eyes slightly and mouthed the words "okay." Then Sam's expression darkened and he looked like he was struggling to breathe.

The alarms began sounding in the room again and Dean worked quickly. He unhooked the vent, grabbing the thin tube to suction Sam's trach. Sam reached out one hand to grip Dean's arm.

"Don't worry Sam. I got you."

Dean could see that Sam trusted him and he just needed the contact. He reached out and grabbed Sam's hand in his own as he snaked the tube through the opening to suction the trach. Dean then reattached the vent.

"Finish the story," Sam mouthed, apparently feeling better.

"I was upset because the kid got sick and had to burn his toys. I asked mom why something so sad had to happen. Then she asked me what happened after that. The bunny comes alive, I told her. You see, she said, something good comes out of something bad. She was right, too, Sam. Even though she didn't make it through that fire, you did. Even though mom was gone, I still had you.

Sam looked at Dean, contemplating it as he if he knew what Dean was getting at but Dean couldn't be sure if Sam bought into it.

ooooo

On New Year's Eve, Dean got his second wish. Sam wasn't requiring the frequent suctioning anymore and Dr. Walton agreed that Sam seemed strong enough to be removed from the vent.

"Are you ready Sam?" Dr. Walton asked as he put his hand on the vent. "I'm going to turn the machine off and you need to take a moment to adjust."

He slowly turned off the machine and Sam looked around searchingly.

"Sam you okay?" Dean asked.

Sam was quiet but he looked afraid.

"Maybe you should turn it back on Doc," Dean said, nervously.

"No, no it's okay. It's been a week and Sam just needs a moment."

Try to cough Sam.

Sam opened his mouth and a strangled sound came out, not sounding so much as a cough but a squeaking sound.

"That's good Sam." He listened to Sam's lungs and then affixed a nasal cannula under Sam's nose to help him with breathing. I am going to keep the stoma or trachea opening there for now," Dr. Walton continued just for the time being."

"You mean you are leaving this hole in his neck?" Dean asked, incredulously.

"Just temporarily, to make sure there are no further complications. Sam will be okay. You can talk to Sam if you block the hole and whisper. Do you want to try?"

Sam tentatively lifted one of his hands, the one that was more mobile, and pressed a finger against the hole.

"De…Dean," he said in a breathy whisper.

It was hoarse and grainy but it was the most beautiful word Dean had ever heard. He grinned from ear to ear.

"Just a few more hours to midnight Boys. I'll leave you to celebrate," Dr. Walton said, cheerfully.

Sam breathlessly whispering his name was Dean's first New Year's gift, Sam wishing him Happy New Year was his second.

oooooooo

Dean had made it through his first obstacle with learning how to suction Sam's trach and soon it was time for his second. Dr. Walton wanted Sam to try to eat solid foods. Dean couldn't understand at first how it would be possible without Sam choking to death but he was reassured it would be okay.

First, he suctioned Sam's tracheotomy to make sure it was clear before feeding him. Then he slowly fed him his meal. He eyed Sam closely as he chewed and swallowed making sure there weren't any signs of distress. Sam seemed just as worried as he did but he met his eyes letting him know he was okay. Then Dean ensured that Sam stayed hydrated since the doctor reminded them that the more liquids Sam consumed, the less likely he would have mucus plugs.

Taking care of Sam's suctioning and feeding became routine for Dean. He even learned how to give him nebulizer treatments. One day, while feeding Sam, Dean had been terrified when he noticed a pinkish liquid coming out of Sam's trach. He tried to hide his panic from Sam but he knew it had to be blood.

"Sam's not getting enough moist air," Dr. Walton explained, calmly, trying to allay his concern. Then he explained the remedy.

The nebulizer treatments supplemented that. Dean affixed a specialized mask over Sam's trach opening and warm, humidified air was delivered to Sam. Dean couldn't help but throw in a few Darth Vadar jokes each time he gave Sam a treatment.

"Luke I am your father," Dean deadpanned, while Sam looked on in both annoyance and amusement.

Dean no longer felt the fear and repulsion he did before. He wasn't sure if it was because it was Sam or maybe something had changed within himself.

Even with his voice somewhat restored, Sam became selectively mute whenever Dean broached the subject of the attack. Dean knew they needed to talk about it. However, it was hard to find the right time since Sam was feeling better and he didn't want to bring him down.

"What about those kids?" Sam whispered to deflect Dean's attention. He was becoming an expert on noticing when Dean was going to bring it up.

"What kids?"

"The kids who got their toys stolen. Those toys from the Salvation Army were meant to be Christmas gifts. Did they replace them?"

"I expect they used them for evidence" Dean replied logically.

"Then you need to go get something."

"Sam, Christmas is over. It's January 4."

"Dean, I'll never forget when I didn't get what I wanted for Christmas. I don't want those kids to have that same memory. Please."

Sam's mention of that Christmas when he did not receive his gift was all it took and Dean found his way over to the toy store buying action figures and Barbie dolls. He left them behind the door of the place where Sam was attacked, avoiding being too close to the spot where his brother had almost died.

When he arrived back at the hospital, Sam was smiling at him suspiciously and he had no clue what was going on until Sam pointed at his neck. The trach was gone. In its place was just a bandage.

"Doc says my voice will get stronger. Now I have one more favor to ask you."

Dean had never in a million years pictured Sam's ordeal ending like this. He certainly never saw himself dressed like this. Maggie and her big mouth just had to tell Sam about the hospitalized kids missing out on Santa on Christmas Day. Even though the hospital had almost completely undecked the halls Sam had insisted on helping out. So now here they were with him dressed as Santa in a suit that God Knows how many people had worn with a beard that probably was infested with spiders. He had to admit that Sam looked way goofier in the elf hat. Of course to add to the complete and sheer utter humiliation, he had been shamed by being forced to decorate Sam's wheelchair with jingle bells.

Sam had done his part to make himself look less scary since with all the casts, Dean reminded him, he resembled a mummy. He tried to cover it up by getting a couple red and green colored casts. Dean knew he'd be sure to throw that up to Sam. Later.

Maggie and a few of the other nurses had decorated one of the playrooms again and there was a tree and some lights hung on the walls.

"Who are you?" A little boy with a patch over his eye asked when they arrived in the room.

"I'm-"

"You sure aren't Santa," one pouty girl proclaimed, interrupting Dean.

"That's because I'm Dean Claus, Santa's much more handsome younger brother," Dean said with a wink.

Sam groaned.

"We talked about this Sam," Dean whispered. "There's no way I can be mistaken for a fat guy who is hundreds of years old."

"Who's that?" She asked pointing at Sam.

"That's Sasquatch, my elf."

Sam rolled his eyes but looked amused at the same time.

"What happened to him?" Another child piped up.

"Ever hear of that song, "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer?" True story and what they didn't tell you is that it happened twice. It happened to Sasquatch."

Before they knew it, they had all broken into song and were singing choruses of "Sasquatch Got Run Over By A Reindeer" while they passed out presents.

ooooooooo

"Dean I think your heart grew two sizes these past few days," Sam said when he returned to his room.

"Sam, I'm not the Grinch okay? And I'm going to prove it to you right now. Here you go Sam," Dean said, handing Sam a small wrapped package after Sam was settled in his bed.

"What's this?"

"A Christmas present."

"Christmas is over Dean."

"Screw the logistics Sam and just open it."

Sam smirked as he unwrapped the paper.

"A Thundercats figure!" He exclaimed once he had the paper off.

"You're not the only one who knows his way around EBay, Geekboy," Dean said, smiling. "Sorry Santa was a little delayed in getting that to you.

"Thank you Dean. This means a lot."

"Now before you think you can change the topic again and have us out caroling for those less fortunate, we need to talk. Not to mention I think people will thank me because have you heard the sound of your voice lately? Nails on a chalkboard is an understatement."

"Dean—"

"I'm glad you have the ability to interrupt me again, but not now. You remember the night you woke up here, that first night?"

Sam looked sheepish.

"You remember what you were trying to say?"

"I was trying to tell you that you were—"

"Right?" Dean finished for him. "No Sam. I'm not sure I can explain it but something happened in that alley. That homeless guy you gave money to, he returned the favor in ways you can't even imagine. What he did was unexplainable, a miracle."

Dean didn't need to go into details. Sam just understood.

"I was really scared," Sam said, honestly. "I couldn't breathe in that alley and I wasn't sure how to tell you. Then waking up here and not being able to talk was pretty bad too."

Dean listened intently, realizing the gravity of what they had experienced.

"I mean, Dean, I should apologize. I was trusting and look at what happened," Sam continued.

"Yeah look at what happened? Look at all the good that happened. A bunch of evil bastards finally got caught, and kids got their presents, and you made a bunch of snot nosed brats in this place have a great Christmas. There is good in this world Sammy. There's you."

Sam got quiet and Dean thought he saw something glistening in the corner of Sam's eye but he didn't want to embarrass him.

"And there's you too, Dean," Sam managed to say after clearing his throat. "I can't thank you enough for taking care of me the way you did. Who do you think helps me keep the faith?"

Dean felt a sudden burst of water in his own eyes but he blinked it away.

"Thanks Sammy," Dean began. "Besides it was no different than cleaning up after your stinky butt when you were a baby. They didn't call you loaded diaper for nothing," Dean finished, wanting to break up the moment with a little levity.

Sam laughed, louder and stronger than Dean had heard it in awhile. It was amazing to see his brother like that, breathing on his own, unassisted by anything, a glow almost surrounding him.

"I'm serious, Sam. You were armed and dangerous."

"Dude, my ribs are still healing," Sam said, clutching his side. Sam continued to laugh, but then stopped.

Merry Christmas Dean," he said sincerely.

"Happy New Year Sam."

Dean still knew that his dad had left him with a secret to tell Sam. He was also aware that love couldn't always save the people you loved most. They still didn't have a mother or a father, but for now focusing on the good he had here and now, a Christmas and New Year spent with his speaking, breathing brother was enough.

As he left Sam's room to refill his water pitcher, he looked down the hallway and he swore he caught a glimpse of camouflage and a scruffy bearded face.

"Thank-you," he mouthed as the figure disappeared.

THE END

_Paper angles you're in my thoughts and prayers_  
_No matter where you are right now remember God's right there_  
_He's asking all of us to help take care_  
_Of his paper angels everywhere~ _Jimmy Wayne, "Paper Angels"

* * *

End Notes: I really hope you liked it and I hope some of you found that ending somewhat surprising. I have to give a shoutout to sentarla who totally guessed the ending way back when this was originally posted. I hope if you did know how this would end, it didn't ruin it for you.

I know Christmas is over but I want to suggest that people please consider adopting a Paper Angel next year through The Salvation Army. It's a great program where you select an angel and buy the toy that's on the list for an underprivileged child. I have been doing this for the past few years and it's extremely rewarding.

Thanks for listening and reading!


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